“Mother has made a mistake.  I’m so old that I know better even than mother.  Auntie Hester loves you, and can’t eat any breakfast till you tell her you don’t mind.  Will you come with me and kiss her, and tell her so?  And we’ll make up a new secret on the way.”

“Yes,” said Regie, eagerly, his wan little face turning pink.  “But mother?” he said, stopping short.

“Run and get your coat on.  I will speak to mother.  Quick, Regie.”

Regie rushed curveting out of the room.  The Bishop followed more slowly, and went into the drawing-room where Mr. and Mrs. Gresley were sitting by the fireless hearth.  The drawing-room fire was never lit till two o’clock.

“Regie goes with me of his own free will,” he said; “so that is settled.  He will be quite safe with me, Mrs. Gresley.”

“My wife demurs at sending him,” said Mr. Gresley.

“No, no, she does not,” said the Bishop, gently.  “Hester saved Regie’s life, and it is only right that Regie should save hers.  You will come over this afternoon to take him back,” he continued to Mr. Gresley.  “I wish to have some conversation with you.”

Fraeulein appeared breathless, dragging Regie with her.

“He has not got on his new overcoat,” said Mrs. Gresley.  “Regie, run up and change at once.”

Fraeulein actually said, “Bozzer ze new coat,” and she swept Regie into the carriage, the Bishop following, stumbling over the ruins of the porch.

“Have they had their hot mash?” he said to the coachman, who was tearing off the horses’ clothing.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Then drive all you know.  Put them at the hills at a gallop.”

Fraeulein pressed a packet of biscuits into the Bishop’s hand.  “He eat no breakfast,” she said.

“Uncle Dick said the porch would sit down, and it has,” said Regie, in an awe-struck voice, as the carriage swayed from side to side of the road.  “Father knows a great deal, but sometimes I think Uncle Dick knows most of all.  First gates and flying half-pennies, and now porches.”

“Uncle Dick is staying in Southminster.  Perhaps we shall see him.”

“I should like to ask him about his finger, if it isn’t a secret.”

“I don’t think it is.  Now, what secret shall we make up on the way?” The Bishop put his head out of the window.  “Drive faster,” he said.

It was decided that the secret should be a Christmas-present for “Auntie Hester,” to be bought in Southminster.  The Bishop found that Regie’s entire capital was sixpence.  But Regie explained that he could spend a shilling, because he was always given sixpence by his father when he pulled a tooth out.  “And I’ve one loose now,” he said.  “When I suck it it moves.  It will be ready by Christmas.”

There was a short silence.  The horses’ hoofs beat the muffled ground all together.

“Don’t you find, Mr. Bishop,” said Regie, tentatively, “that this riding so quick in carriages and talking secrets does make people very hungry?”